


In the Days of Innocence

by bauble



Series: A Noble Waltz, Unmoored [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bauble/pseuds/bauble
Summary: Gladio is Shield to a sulky young princeling who doesn't take his duties seriously--largely because his attendants spoil him. One day, said princeling's chamberlain shows up to a training session and challenges Gladio's assumptions.Canon-compliant. Set during the 'Brotherhood' anime era, when Gladio and Ignis are both teenagers. Will be part of a larger series exploring their relationship across different points in their joint history.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: A Noble Waltz, Unmoored [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748872
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	1. The Sway

**Author's Note:**

> I’m building out a head canon for Gladio/Ignis through this series. These will be independent stories that all exist within the same timeline and history for them. This series will be generally canon-compliant and follow the 'true' ending of the game.
> 
> This particular story is set when they're between 17-19 years old in Insomnia.

The Prince is late for training. Again.

Gladio glances at his watch; if he leaves now, he can probably make it to the metro before rush hour. Be sitting on his couch with a hot cup of noodles and a good book within forty-five minutes.

A throat clears delicately behind him. 

Gladio turns. It’s one of those stuffed shirts that’s always fluttering around Noctis. This one is blonde, with glasses. Looks familiar—one of Noct’s main attendants, maybe.

“Gladiolus.” Stuffed Shirt executes a slight, practiced bow. “Unfortunately, Prince Noctis will not be able to attend training today.”

“Figured as much.” Gladio turns back to the practice mat. Good thing he didn’t bother rolling out all the equipment for the session; clean up should be quick.

“Is this everything you regularly use for your sessions?” Stuffed Shirt’s tone is mild, but the edge is unmistakable. “I don’t see any protective gear for his Highness.”

“Bring someone to train and I’ll break out the full band,” Gladio says. “Not my job to get him here, though.”

There’s a brief pause before Stuffed Shirt speaks. “If you’d like to drag the prince from his bed, I’d be happy to escort you to his quarters.”

Gladio snorts. Of course Noctis is sleeping through the afternoon. And of course his stuffed shirts are indulging him. “Pass.” Gladio returns to packing up the practice swords. “And next time you can just shoot me a text if his royal highness can’t be bothered to get up.”

Gladio hears the faintest exhale of exasperation. He doesn’t turn around, hoping Stuffed Shirt will take the hint and go away. Then, “I was actually hoping you might consider training me during the time you’d set aside for his lesson.”

Well, shit. That’s unexpected. Gladio gives Stuffed Shirt a once over: tall, lean, but not totally scrawny. “Thinking about a career change?”

“No, I simply believe I should be prepared for any exigency. If the Prince should need me--”

Gladio straightens. “You saying the Shield of the Prince won’t be enough?”

Stuffed Shirt meets Gladio’s eyes, calm but resolute. “Given the destiny laid upon him, I wish to be able to serve in every capacity I can.”

Gladio studies Stuffed Shirt, grudgingly impressed by the fact that he isn’t backing down. “Well, it’s your ass getting kicked if you want it. But I don’t teach beginners.”

“I’m not a beginner. I’ve been training with a Kingsglaive for the past year and a half.”

That catches Gladio’s attention. “A Kingsglaive? Who?”

“I doubt you know him. He’s new, and a refugee from Galahd,” Stuffed Shirt says, hint of a flush across his high cheekbones. Ah, Gladio thinks. That sort of training. Well, stuffed shirts were sometimes the most fun once you got their clothes off. Wild after having to repress all day. Eager to please.

Gladio gives Stuffed Shirt a second, longer look: there might be some muscle underneath that courtly attire. He’s also not intimidated by Gladio or his physical size; hard to tell whether that’s earned confidence or naïve foolhardiness at this point. 

“Alright. One match to see what you’re made of.” Gladio tosses Stuffed Shirt a practice sword. “You beat me, I’ll train you for the rest of the session Noctis was supposed to have. You lose, I go home early.”

Stuffed Shirt catches the sword and shifts into a fighting stance. “Those terms are acceptable to me.”

Stuffed Shirt’s form is good, Gladio notes as they circle each other. Stuffed Shirt tries to keep up, gamely, with a decent inventory of basic Kingsglaive techniques. No match for Gladio, of course, but not bad for a year and a half of training.

Gladio ends the round by knocking the sword from Stuffed Shirt’s hand. It clatters to the ground. Stuffed Shirt takes a step back, panting. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead—not an unattractive look for him. Gladio can begin to see why a Kingsglaive might take some interest.

“Rumors of your prowess were not at all exaggerated,” Stuffed Shirt says. “It seems I have quite a bit of work ahead of me.”

“Keep at it.” Gladio hauls his gym bag over his shoulder and heads towards the door. “Hit me up in a year or two. I’m game for a rematch.”


	2. The Rise

[ 6 MONTHS LATER ]

“Ignis, cancel all my appointments,” Noctis says, flat on the floor with limbs splayed out like a starfish. “Some thug likes to beat me up and call it training.”

Still five minutes left to the lesson, officially, but Gladio decides to let it go. At least the Prince showed up on time, probably because he was personally escorted by that pretty Stuffed Shirt—Ignis. Rather than take off to get a sandwich or something, Ignis had pulled up a chair and watched. Kind of weird to be observed while trying to teach, but at least it did make Noctis whine less—until now.

Whatever, not Gladio’s problem. He gathers up the wooden greatswords and shields they’d been practicing with, sets them in the equipment cart to wheel back to the Armory.

“Very well.” Ignis is jotting down notes in a small journal, seemingly unbothered by Noctis’ attitude. Gladio grabs a bottle of water to restrain himself from saying anything; the prince is never going to grow up if they keep indulging his shit like this. “I will inform the King that you won’t be able to see him tonight.”

“Wait, Dad’s actually gonna make it to dinner?” Noctis says. “Hang on, don’t cancel that.”

“As you wish,” Ignis murmurs. “And I will have Umbra removed from your quarters so as not to disturb you.”

“Umbra’s back?” Noctis twists towards Ignis. “No, leave him. I want to read what Luna sent.”

“As his majesty commands. And of course, I shall cancel the appointment at the Arcade with Prompto later this evening—”

“That’s tonight? Ugh.” Noctis finally sits up. “Fine, fine. Let me just—shower and get cleaned up.”

Gladio watches Noctis trudge off to the bathroom. After his sulky majesty is gone, Ignis relaxes, slightly.

“Huh,” Gladio says. Seems like one of Noctis’ retinue might actually have a backbone. “Maybe you’re not as bad at your job as I thought.”

“I live for unsolicited performance reviews,” Ignis replies without looking up.

Gladio grabs the training mats off the floor and starts stacking them in the back. “Are those real appointments?”

Now he has Ignis’ full attention. “Are you implying that I would lie to our Crown Prince?”

Gladio finishes with the mats and turns back to Ignis. “I’m saying that I think I underestimated you.”

“Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?”

“Take it however you want. Just an observation.” Gladio unzips his track jacket and strips it off. He’s got a T-shirt on underneath that makes his pecs look spectacular. He takes a sip from his water bottle and checks to see whether Ignis is looking: he is. “You know, I charge for classes. That includes auditors.” 

Ignis closes the notebook in his lap. “Auditors? I am here in service to the Prince.”

“Naturally. And those attack diagrams you drew—all study aids for him, right?”

“The education of our future king is of utmost importance, which includes combat training. Besides,” Ignis’ measured tone takes on a different flavor, gaze flicking up to what Gladio would swear is his mouth. “It is rather difficult to take notes when a massive sword is coming in the direction of your face. Most distracting.”

“Is that why you came by?” Gladio steps closer. “To see my massive—”

“I’m ready,” Noctis announces as he emerges from the locker room, hair damp and stuck to the sides of his face. He looks like a drowned rodent—the kind that ruins the mood of a room. “We gotta swing by my place before we go to the Citadel. I want to say hi to Umbra and grab the notebook.”

“There won’t be time to write an immediate response.” Ignis stands. “It wouldn’t do to be late.”

“Right,” Noctis says. “Not like Dad’s ever kept me waiting.”

“Your father is the leader of a nation that depends on him for its very survival,” Ignis says, in a tone sharper than Gladio’s ever heard an attendant take with Noctis. It’s kind of a turn on. “When he keeps you waiting, it’s not because he stayed up too late playing videogames and overslept.”

“Yeah.” Noctis looks down at the ground. “I know.” 

Sometimes it’s easy to forget how young Noctis is, and how heavy the chain of destiny is around his neck. If King Regis were to die tomorrow, what would the kingdom do? It’s the question that haunts everyone who serves the Prince, and probably everyone who serves the King. In generations past, there had been Princes and Princesses of Luciis ready to ascend the throne at age fifteen, ready to accept their fate.

But not this one.

“Your father will be pleased to see you tonight,” Ignis says, voice softening once more. “I’m certain he will be eager to hear about your studies.”

“Yeah, I bet he’ll be real excited to hear about how I did on my math test,” Noctis replies. “And how I still suck at magic.”

Gladio crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey, you know what won’t make you better at magic? Feeling sorry for yourself. You know what will? Practice and hard work.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.” Noctis hitches his backpack strap up over his shoulder. “Bye, Gladio.”

“Remember to do those stretches,” Gladio calls after Noctis as he leaves. “And eat a godsdamned vegetable tonight.”

“He does try,” Ignis says, pausing at the door. “I know it’s not always readily apparent.”

“Yeah, well, what’s the world gonna do when that’s not enough?” Gladio asks. “You gonna step in and do it for him?”

One corner of Ignis’ mouth curves up, a smile somehow as sad as it is lovely. “If I have to.”


	3. The Fall

[ 6 MONTHS LATER ]

“I’d like my rematch now.”

Gladio catches the punching bag to still its motion. His shirt sticks uncomfortably to skin as he catches his breath. And here he thought he’d be having a quiet afternoon alone at the gym.

Ignis walks towards Gladio holding two practice swords. He’s not wearing his usual work attire, clad instead in a clingy tank top and shorts that reveal a good amount of muscular thigh. Gladio feels warm, his blood up—he could go for a vigorous spar. Could go for something after, too.

“Sure.” Gladio takes off his gloves and sets them on the rack. “You mind if I take my shirt off for this? I’m burning up in here.”

“However you are most comfortable,” Ignis replies, tone demure. His gaze is less so, sweeping appreciatively over Gladio’s bare chest.

As they settle into combat stances, Gladio’s notes the improvement in Ignis’ form. He’s gained muscle mass since their last match; it looks good on him. Lucky that nobody else is around because Gladio’s halfway hard and they haven’t even touched yet.

Gladio starts with a few test strikes at half-speed and half-strength. Ignis evades, moving with impressive alacrity. He even executes a feint Gladio has been trying—unsuccessfully--to teach Noct for a month.

Gladio starts when he feels the edge of Ignis’ practice sword make contact with his side—only a brush, but still. Gladio pulls back, reassessing. They circle each other, Ignis switching the sword smoothly from his right to left hand. There’s no trace of flirtation left in his expression. It occurs to Gladio that Ignis might actually be trying to win.

Gladio grins. No more half-measures, then. 

The ensuing battle is brief but vigorous. Ignis fights as well with his left arm as his right, incorporating a series of martial arts moves that aren’t part of the standard Kingsglaive repertoire. Disarming him isn’t as it easy as it was a year ago, and Gladio finds himself having to knock Ignis to the ground to do it.

“You’ve improved.” Gladio says as he offers Ignis a hand up. After a beat, Ignis takes it. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.” Ignis rises to his feet, chest inches away from Gladio’s. He doesn’t release Gladio’s hand. “I’ve been working with dedicated trainer.”

“That Kingsglaive still giving private lessons?” Gladio skims the fingers of his free hand down Ignis’ side. The heat radiating from his body is immense. Exhilarating.

“He did teach me a great deal.” Ignis places a palm in the center of Gladio’ bare chest and slides it slowly down to his abdomen, brazen and without hesitation. “But recently, I’ve become a fan of auditing.”

Gladio’s track pants do little to hide the obvious reaction to Ignis’ touch. “Seems like you’ve learned a few tricks. Have you offered this trainer you’re auditing any kind of compensation?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any money on me.” Ignis hooks a hand around the back of Gladio’s neck and pulls him in for a teasing brush of lips. “Do you suppose he’d be willing to settle the bill in trade?”

Gladio grins as he dips down for a deeper kiss, mouth opening to receive Ignis’ sly tongue. Their legs slot together, hard cocks against thighs. It’s ungainly and rough and Gladio’s pretty sure he’s going to come in his pants in less than thirty seconds.

Ignis pulls away with a stinging bite to Gladio’s lower lip and drops to his knees, shoving Gladio’s pants and underwear down. Ignis gives the head of his dick a chaste kiss before easing it fully into his mouth.

Gladio shudders as Ignis looks up at him from under his glasses. There’s something nearly mischievous in the way he cradles Gladio’s balls and sucks him. Knowing. 

Gladio feels his climax approaching, manages to voice a warning. A finger sweeps across his hole while his cock slides down a throat, and he’s gone.

He opens his eyes, body buzzing with pleasure and disorientation. Below him, Ignis is still suckling, a trickle of come leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Gladio shivers when Ignis pulls off with a contented sigh and sits back in a wide-legged sprawl. There’s a growing damp patch across the front of Ignis’ shorts.

Gladio sinks to the floor, eager to peel off those tiny shorts. There’s a mess of come streaked across Ignis’ underwear and groin--which is almost as hot as the satisfied expression on Ignis’ face.

He doesn’t protest when Gladio ducks down to lick the head of his cock gently. His come is still warm, a reminder that he got off on losing to Gladio and then blowing him. Gladio wonders if Ignis would be this eager if he won—or if he’d push Gladio to his knees, claim Gladio’s mouth as the spoils of victory. The thought makes Gladio’s dick twitch as he licks Ignis clean. 

“Marvelous,” Ignis purrs, his usually crisp enunciation slightly slurred. 

“Hell yeah.” Gladio releases Ignis and collapses on the floor. The mats are mercifully cool against his skin. “We should probably get dressed. Someone might come in to actually train.”

“No need.” Ignis is on his back, eyes closed. “I reserved the room for the next few hours and locked the door on my way in.”

“Pretty confident this was all gonna go your way, huh?”

“I thought the odds might be in my favor.” Ignis’ eyes are still closed, the corners of his mouth turned up. “Did you think your attempts at flirtation would be too subtle for me to notice?”

Gladio chuckles as he lays back down. “Nah. Subtle’s not really my style.” 

He hears deep breathing beside him. He’s pretty tempted to drift off, too, except—

“This gonna make things weird?” Gladio asks. “Because I had fun.”

“I don’t see why it should.” A pause. “I enjoyed myself as well.”

Gladio grins up at the ceiling. He rolls over to peer at Ignis: he looks like a wreck, and Gladio’s what made him that way. It’s awesome. “If you want to go for a second round, I could be persuaded in five minutes or so.”

“I see.” Ignis opens his eyes. They’re green, Gladio finds himself noticing for the first time. Pretty color. “And what means of persuasion might I need to employ?”

“I like your voice.” Gladio sits up and drags his tired, satiated body to the edge of the mat. Rummages through his gym bag for two bottles of water. He cracks one open for himself and rolls the other to Ignis. “You could probably talk me into it pretty easily.”

“Shall I recite Altissian poetry, then?” Ignis is smiling as he sits up, downs half the bottle with one long swallow. “Woo you with Tenebraen sonnets?”

“Poetry, huh?” The girls Gladio’s been with expected they’d be the ones that got wooed, and the guys never bothered either way. “Been a while since someone’s tried that.”

“Perhaps you’d enjoy it.” Ignis stretches on his side in a long, sinuous line. The Prince’s chamberlain. Who’d have thought? “I know some shockingly explicit villanelles about analingus.”

Gladio snorts a surprised laugh. “I just might.” 

Ignis grins wolfishly at him, and Gladio can’t help but smile stupidly back. He imagines sitting across from Ignis in his favorite ramen joint. Imagines asking Ignis about himself, watching him gesticulate with his chopsticks. Imagines kissing him at the end of the night and asking if he’s ever been camping before.

Gladio crawls on top of him, nose hovering two inches above Ignis’. “And maybe after round two, we could--” 

A phone rings, sharp and demanding. Everything in Ignis’ demeanor changes as he reaches for his bag. “I apologize, I must take this. It’s Noctis.”

“Sure.” Gladio rolls off Ignis. The Prince’s chamberlain. Of course.

Ignis stands and walks a few paces away to answer the call. Gladio can’t make out what Noctis is saying, but he knows the tone: _I’ve stubbed my toe, I need help._

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Don’t move,” Ignis says as he ends the call, already fixing his clothes. He turns to Gladio. “I have to go.”

“Sure. Duty calls.” Gladio sits up, cross-legged, and rests his palms on his knees. Forces a smile. “You can hit the showers first. I should clean up.”

“A raincheck on round two, then.” Ignis hesitates. “And you were saying something about after…”

“Right. I was gonna say that we probably shouldn’t tell the Prince about this,” Gladio says, trying to keep his voice as light as he can. “Not that there’s much to tell, but you know. Things could get a little uncomfortable around court if someone found out. People might have opinions.”

“I see.” Ignis tucks the phone back into his bag. “Yes, I’d imagine--that is the most prudent course of action, certainly.”

“We’ll keep it simple. Casual,” Gladio says, not sure why every word twists something inside his gut. “I’ve got a lot going on and I know the Prince keeps you busy.”

“That is true.” Ignis’ face is unreadable. “Thank you for your candor. I know I can always rely on you to be—honest. And forthright.”

“Sure.” Honest. Gladio doesn’t know why that word makes him flinch. “And hey, if you ever want to spar again—I’m down.”

Ignis glances over his shoulder on the way to the locker room and inclines his head. “Perhaps I shall take you up on the offer. I… I still have much to learn.”

Gladio watches him go with a curious heaviness in his chest. They both got laid and enjoyed it. Seems like they both want to do it again. This is the best option all around: cordial, uncomplicated. 

Gladio packs up all the equipment and wipes down the room. By the time he’s done, it’s like they were never there. Like nothing ever happened.

Fin


End file.
